


metal links on a leash

by starrylitme



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: A chain leash...seriously..., Cunnilingus, F/M, Humiliation, Master/Pet, Mental Instability, Oral Sex, Public Humiliation, That one's more implied though, Verbal Humiliation, boot licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2173905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enoshima pulls so hard sometimes she leaves bruises. Komaeda looks at them in his reflection, touching them gingerly and sighed as he covers them again with his leash. He almost feels the collar press perfectly against those welts on his neck, and the harder he looks at them—mangy and leashed like an animal—the more he grows to despise them.</p>
<p>(Also known as this "Servant" character who looks an awfully lot like Komaeda has a friggin' chain leash so I wrote JunKomaeda petplay with all the usual "sweet" connotations of their relationship. Woo.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	metal links on a leash

**Author's Note:**

> Quick smut here, so quality is like, ehhhh. I would say YOLO but that's just lame.
> 
> I may or may not have more than a few extra smut ideas due to this "Servant-kun" though. Haah.
> 
> Here it is.

Enoshima pulls so hard sometimes she leaves bruises. Komaeda looks at them in his reflection, touching them gingerly and sighed as he covers them again with his leash. He almost feels the collar press perfectly against those welts on his neck, and the harder he looks at _them_ —mangy and leashed like an animal—the more he grows to despise them.

He wraps the chain in his own hand sometimes to yank. He chokes, and he gasps, and sometimes... He gets the sickest sense of enjoyment that makes him wheeze with laughter between soft, scattered breaths and tremble as his neck undergoes the painful strain...and as the metal links start to cut into his grip.

“How desperate,” Enoshima sing-songs when she comes across him doing so, and he drops his stare as he elegant fingers dig through his grip and painfully take the chain from him. “Here, Nagi, let me.”

She pulls him along, and then yanks hard enough that he falls to his hands and knees with a yelp. Komaeda trembles, and her foot nudges his shoulder before tracing and stroking his face with the toe of her laced up boot. It’s almost like she expect him to lick it, given the smile on her face and that she tells him to do just that.

“Clean it. Have you forgotten how to clean, you filthy mutt?”

Komaeda blinks a few times drearily...and he scowls, throat bubbling with his growl. But he still obeys, rubbing his tongue flat against the toe of her boot, grimacing at the awful taste as he licked up to her laces. Enoshima practically holds back a croon, almost shaking with delight and Komaeda entertains himself with the idea of biting her calf until she cried. Maybe digging his nails in until he drew blood—but clawing out her throat sounded pretty sublime too it was just...

Enoshima would get off on that. She would. She’d die happy. And he really,  _really_ hated her too much.

“What a good boy!” she coos, and squats down to run her fingers through his hair with playful, painful ruffles as her red nails scratch at his scalp. She affectionately baby-talks with him like he’s really her favorite pet—which he is, he pretty much  _is_  and the leash saying so is so  ** _heavy_**  around his neck—and she kisses his forehead and eyebrow line. His skin crawls with each sickeningly sweet soft imprint of her red, red lips. “Such a sweet puppy—you deserve a reward, don’t you, oh yes you do...”

Komaeda trembles as she takes his face in her hands, and winces when her nails dig in. Her eyes are lit up, swirling, and Komaeda has to drop his gaze because he hates the sight.

“C’mon,” Enoshima urges him sweetly, tugging a bit before moving back to grab the chain and yanking yet again. He whines, nearly digs his heels in the dirt, and he would have stood if she didn’t pull as hard as she could to make him cry out and... “You’re so weak—must be hungry. Let’s get you fed. Let’s reward you. Let’s go, Na _gi_ to.”

Komaeda is only allowed to crawl after her as she leads.

* * *

Enoshima has a throne, makeshift and ruined but still serving its purpose. She has several of these, actually, and as Komaeda is pulled to sit by the front, knees bent, hands and feet flat against the ground... She plops down without a care, chain still lovingly wrapped around her left hand.

“Nagi, Nagi,” she giggles, patting her lap to rest his head in. He does so, not making much of an expression. Her fingers card through his messy snow-white tresses. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He doesn’t answer but she shushes him anyway, and puts a finger to her lips like what they’re doing is a secret—and it’s not, it certainly is  ** _not_** —and then she begins to tug her skirt so that she can lift it over him.

She’s already wet, and he can even smell her arousal.  _Sickening_. He shallows and her hand curls around the nape of his neck, fingers half on the cold metal of the collar and pulls him forward until he’s practically smushed against her groin. There’s only the soft, damp cotton acting as a barrier.

“Here you are,” Enoshima laughs brightly, stroking the back of his head and urging. “Go on.”

Her nails dig in, and Komaeda freezes up before opening his mouth and licking her through the fabric. It’s not that bitter, he thinks, but he hates the taste of her underwear. It brings back the  _worst_  memories—having his mouth gagged, being unable to cry for help much less escape, and...

He hates it no matter how often he’s on his knees pleasuring his queen this way.

But then, she sighs, stops him and gives him one of her prettiest smiles. “Right. Reward.” And she laughs, hooking her fingers in her panties and pulling them off her legs. They fall into a crumpled mess between him and the throne, and Komaeda breathes through his mouth—it comes out like a pant.

“There we are—isn’t this easier?” Enoshima was bright and chipper with the exclamation and Komaeda only felt further bogged down as his eyes flickered between her face and clit. Then he wordlessly buried himself back in her.

The exposed coarse curls irritate him, especially as he smoothes them down with his lips, and rather than taking broad strokes with his tongue like normal... He figures it’ll go by faster if he immediately goes for the folds of her labia now that  _this_  is the situation.

Enoshima’s squeal is high-pitched, and he twitches with annoyance as he tries easing her open without the use of his fingers. It’s difficult, but if he used his hands—he hasn’t a doubt it’s a bad idea. She might cut them off. Replace them with actual dog paws.

_She’d find a way,_  he thinks as his tongue thrusts inside of her, his groans muffled and he laps her up.  _I don’t doubt that for a moment._

Enoshima gasps and moans, shy and obviously meant to be stimulating, and he’s still painfully aware that he can’t just suck her off. Her thighs twitch, her fingers bury into his hair, and he’s sure she’s not doing this because she’s close—but because she wants to prolong this agonizing moment by making it more difficult.

Well then. He perseveres, pressing into her harder and then nudging against her clitoris. Between his groans, he nips at her, sinking in his teeth enough to where it must hurt...and Enoshima practically cries with delight at the sensation.

She’s sensitive, so he hurts her more, biting and roughly pushing, and his name is lovingly stroked on her lips. He shudders a bit— _disgusting, really **disgusting**_ —and continues to abuse her swollen clit until she releases on him—all over his face.

He nearly chokes when he swallows, and Enoshima sighs happily, stroking his hair again as he laps it all away off of her. He should be used to it by now, and he somewhat is, being able to lick off the salty remains without so much as another grimace before pulling away.

“You’re still messy, you filthy mutt,” Enoshima tells him even though he’s aware. His chin feels wet and he’s sure there are juices smeared against his face that he wouldn’t have been able to get to anyway. “Are you still hungry? So greedy...”

It’s a ridiculous idea. He still feels as cold as he did when she first took his chain. That chain that she still holds, tugs at sometimes; he only bows his head subserviently.

But she doesn’t drop his chain—instead she continues, like it’s wonderful news she couldn’t wait to drop. “Hey, Komaeda-kun, how about we show you off again today. I’m sure everyone else will be more than ready for you. Can you imagine it...?”

Komaeda freezes, and then she  _describes_  it. “Begging on your knees like you always do, panting and whining when people give it to you, over and over... Doesn’t that sound good? Oh, I bet you can’t wait. Probably desperate right now... What do you think?”

“I...” But then she yanks on the chain, nearly choking him, and he coughs out, spittle dripping down his chin. Komaeda understands though, when he sees the playful annoyance on Enoshima’s face. The unspoken threat in her bright blue eyes.

“Speak, mutt.”  _She wants me to bark. Mutts bark. They don’t speak._ “Isn’t that what you want?”

He barks, the sound neutral and yet still harsh on his throat. He doesn’t meet her eyes as he does so, giving a disinterested air instead, and Enoshima giggles and tugs again at his leash. “Let’s go then—I bet you can’t  _wait_.”

* * *

He couldn’t have waited for it to have been over sooner.

By the end of it, his mouth is so sore that all that come out are gruff pants and soft whines. Enoshima tires of him eventually, though his condition was hilarious enough for her to prod at for a long while after it was over and she ordered one of her many puppets to leave. She does leave, though, and drops his chain so that it can fall to the ground with a rattle.

Komaeda curls up on the same ground like a dog, arms folded and shivering. It takes him a while to notice said similarity, but when he does, his eyes simply narrow at nothing in particular. He scratches at his bruises underneath the collar, and then sighs as he gathers up the chain so that it’s no longer splayed over the surface of the dirt.

The metal’s gotten a bit dirty, he thinks, and he really ought to clean it later. Komaeda rubs his tongue against one of the darker stains—it’s either rust of dried up blood, he can’t really tell. Later, he’ll clean it off properly. He’s still trembling, even as he smiles with his lips pressed against the chain.


End file.
